


Jacob's Dream

by dizzywhiz



Series: Gemini [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Blangst, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Episode: s04e04 The Break Up, Internal Conflict, Internal Monologue, Introspection, M/M, No Dialogue, References to Depression, because i'm me, reaction fic, season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:53:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25599877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzywhiz/pseuds/dizzywhiz
Summary: Blaine had been so focused on getting Kurt to New York that he hadn't taken the time to consider how his own life would change without Kurt around. He almost immediately learned he couldn't handle it, and it all spiraled out of control very quickly. AKA what went through Blaine's head to lead him to cheat on Kurt and how he handled the immediate aftermath.
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel
Series: Gemini [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1845607
Comments: 10
Kudos: 25





	Jacob's Dream

**Author's Note:**

> this is a really heavy one with not much externally-driven plot, but I hope you'll still give it a read! I've spent a lot of time trying to get in blaine's head and figure out what led him to cheat, especially so soon after kurt left for new york.
> 
> as with many of the crazy plot decisions in glee, it's hard to make it make sense, but maybe this will help.
> 
> I highly recommend listening to the song of the same name, as always!
> 
> [listen to the song here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MnBOojgjDf8)

Everything was past the point of being wrong.

Everything just felt completely _unreal,_ like Blaine had entered an alternate universe entirely because _no,_ this couldn’t be his own life, his own body, his own mind.

He was lost in a dream of the worst type, an unimaginable nightmare, all by his own doing.

He brought every bit of it upon himself.

Sitting there in the cramped middle seat of the crowded airplane, wedged between an no-nonsense businessman and an overly friendly young mom with a baby in her lap, Blaine felt like he was about to come out of his skin.

He felt like his heart had been racing for days, like he had barely been able to breathe for just as long, ever since-

Well, ever since he self-destructed in the worst possible way.

Ever since he made what he instantly knew would be his biggest mistake, the biggest regret of his entire life.

He had never felt less in control, less himself, less tethered to the _universe,_ and there was no ending in sight, but he deserved it.

No, he deserved worse.

Blaine jolted as the baby next to him let out a loud squeal, and anxiety coursed through his veins as he clenched his fists in a desperate attempt to hold himself back, to stop himself from projecting, to reacting, to making it all worse.

It wasn’t the baby’s fault for being on the plane.

The baby belonged there more than he did, after all. He bought his tickets so last minute that he had barely had enough time to make it through TSA before boarding was called. He had no idea what he had thrown in his overnight bag, but it didn’t matter.

Considering he felt like he wasn’t even worthy of being _alive,_ let alone worthy of laying his eyes on Kurt in a matter of hours, things like a shitty middle seat or a change of clothes felt more trivial than ever.

With a shaky hand, Blaine reached up to press his earbuds further into his ears, to block out the noise, but it wasn’t helping.

The relentless cacophony was in his own mind, after all, and there was no getting away from it.

Blaine squeezed his eyes closed, clenching and unclenching his fists in a repetitive motion, willing his mind to calm long enough for him to be able to actually _think._

He had to figure out what to say, how to admit it, how to soften the inevitably fatal blow as much as he could, but he knew it would be ugly.

How could he face Kurt and explain what he had done when he didn’t understand it himself?

_I slept with someone._

God, Blaine could hardly admit it to himself without wanting to vomit. He was too weak, too much of a _coward_ to even _imply_ that much of what had happened - he knew he could never say it aloud, not to himself, not to Kurt, not ever.

_I cheated on you._

No, that implied that it was more than it was, that Blaine had legitimately _wanted_ it, not that he was entirely overcome by the feeling of loneliness, blinding him to anything else but the need to feel something _else_ for once, _anything_ else.

_I was with someone._

_Fuck._

He should have just called Kurt. He should have called him, or texted him, or pulled on his old Dalton hoodie and looked through their pictures on his phone, the same way he had countless other nights, but it wouldn’t have been _enough._

He needed to _feel,_ to feel _wanted,_ to feel _desired,_ and suddenly, there someone was, anonymous and open and _willing,_ and it seemed so easy.

It was too easy.

Kurt had been so busy, caught up in the hustle and bustle of the city, immediately immersed in his new life, but that was exactly the problem.

Kurt had a new life, and Blaine wasn’t a part of any of it.

Not anymore.

Instead, Blaine was stuck in Ohio, stuck in high school with his high school goals and his high school problems. 

But he knew he should have seen the fallout coming, and he had no one to blame but himself for not being ready for it.

In many ways, Blaine’s junior year at McKinley was imperfectly perfect, full of success and new memories and _excitement,_ braving prom a second time and winning Nationals and getting the lead in the musical and sharing every day, every bit of it with _Kurt._

Those were the things he had hoped for, the things he had counted on, the things he had _trusted._

He hadn’t anticipated the jealousy, the eye surgery, the fighting, the way his insecurities and fears began to build up against him in his mind, starting an internal battle he could only lose.

Somehow, he hadn’t anticipated the emptiness, either, or the loneliness, or the deeply-rooted feeling akin to nothing but unfair _betrayal_ he felt when Kurt left, even though Blaine had told him to go.

Starting the school year with Kurt hanging around their usual haunts - the Lima Bean, Glee rehearsals, during classes, even - just felt _wrong._ Being close to Kurt wasn’t worth watching him get so stuck, watching him give up before he had even given himself a fair chance to get started.

New York was where Kurt belonged, where he _needed_ to be in order to truly spread his wings, to grow, to _thrive,_ but watching him leave was still somehow one of the hardest things Blaine had ever had to do.

Because Kurt would be having all of those new experiences, growing and changing and _improving,_ all _without_ him.

And Blaine was left behind, simple as that.

Except it wasn’t like that at all, and he _knew_ that, but it didn’t stop him from feeling it. He knew better than to let on about it, too - instead, he put his energy into supporting Kurt, into encouraging him, into sending him off with a song and a hug and a promise that they would be _fine,_ that the year would go by quickly, that they would be together again in no time.

It was impossible for Blaine to believe it could really be so easy, even as the words were coming out of his own mouth.

But Kurt didn’t deserve the guilt of knowing how lost Blaine already felt, so he kept it to himself, pushing it down during the day until he laid in bed at night each night and inevitably gave in, letting his thoughts, his worries, his fears tangle up in his mind and threaten to pull him apart at the seams.

It was too hard to go with Burt to drop Kurt off at the airport, and Burt deserved his own private goodbye, anyways.

Blaine didn’t know how he could have let Kurt walk away, how he could have handled literally watching him leave.

So he didn’t.

Kurt had assured him that it was okay, that their last night together, spent holed up in Blaine’s otherwise-empty house, was a more meaningful send-off than a quick hug at the airport entrance, but Blaine couldn’t help but feel selfish for not going, for giving into his own fears.

He couldn’t help but feel like he had already begun letting Kurt down, like things would never be the same between them again.

Of course, he had been right.

Things changed quickly, even faster than he had anticipated. 

The unanswered texts began to build up quickly, followed by rushed apologies and a checked-out exchange of pleasantries at the end of the night that would just leave Blaine feeling _empty,_ almost worse than if he hadn’t heard from Kurt at all.

They still had their near-nightly Skype dates, and for a little while, they were good. They got to _see_ each other, and Blaine got to watch Kurt’s face light up when he talked about his internship and his classes and everything else, but seeing him through a screen, hundreds of miles away, unable to touch and feel and breath him in, just made him miss Kurt all the more once they hung up.

It was hard to get used to missing Kurt when the ghost of him was everywhere Blaine looked.

Because truly, Kurt _was_ everywhere.

He was in Blaine’s bed, a stray sock left shoved at the foot of it and tangled in the sheets, the smell of his shampoo lingering in the pillows. He was in Blaine’s bathroom, a mini bottle of his hairspray on his counter, that damned bronzing moisturizer right there beside it. He was in Blaine’s car, shortcuts to his favorite radio stations still programmed in, a forgotten pair of his sunglasses in the glove compartment. 

And then there was McKinley.

McKinley _was_ Kurt’s, through and through. Even though Blaine had already been there a year himself, it still felt like Kurt’s stomping grounds, Kurt’s teachers, Kurt’s friends, Kurt’s _everything._

Blaine poured himself into joining clubs and getting involved and even running for student body president, and during the day, it worked. He was _fine,_ but then he would come home, and it would all feel so _pointless,_ because even though they talked, Kurt wasn’t _really_ around for Blaine to share his day with.

But Kurt was happy, - _radiant,_ even - a far cry from how dejected he was after not getting into NYADA, and he was growing and changing and becoming more confident by the _day,_ and Blaine couldn’t bring himself to put a damper on that, considering he was-

Well, he was just right where he had always been.

 _It’s just one year,_ he would remind himself. _Less than that, even, and then you’ll be there, too._

But it was a _year,_ and it was already so hard after barely a month. As he watched Kurt grow stronger every day, Blaine felt himself getting weaker just as quickly, felt his resolve crumbling, felt himself giving into the voice inside his head saying _look at him, he’s better off without you._

How could he handle an entire _year_ that way, wrestling with the thoughts in his head without anything to truly keep him grounded?

How much stronger would Kurt get after an entire _year_ in being in New York, moving and climbing and racing towards an increasingly attainable goal of making his dreams come true, while Blaine barely even dreamed anymore, period?

 _Get over it,_ he would tell himself. _Be happy for Kurt._

But then there was the other voice, too.

_Missing him so much and being so lonely is only proving that he’s better off without you. Look at yourself. Look at him. You’re nothing without him, and he’s everything without you._

As the missed calls began to pile up, and as the Skype dates got shorter and the texts got fewer and farther between, that voice in Blaine’s head only grew louder.

Logically, he knew it wasn’t true. Kurt wouldn’t fall out of love with him so quickly. Kurt _wanted_ him to come visit, and he still wanted to _talk_ to Blaine, even if it was mostly to talk about himself. He told Blaine he missed him, too, and he was excited to see him, and it should have been enough.

But it wasn’t.

The voice was taking over, and Blaine wrestled with it night after night. He wasn’t sleeping well, and he felt like he was covered in emotional scars, constantly increasing battle wounds, but he pushed it all down during the day.

If he was good at anything, it was performing.

So he performed, and no one knew the difference, not even Kurt. Everyone thought he was fine, _happy,_ even, and he wanted to believe them, but he just wanted to _run._ He just wanted to get away from Ohio, away from himself, and find a way back to _Kurt,_ back to hold onto the lifeline he didn’t even know if Kurt was extending anymore.

But on the inside, he was fighting a losing battle.

Then the Facebook message came, and it offered a fucked up, delusional beacon of misguided light, and Blaine gave up fighting.

He regretted it instantly.

Eli had tried to kiss him, but Blaine could barely stand the feeling of a stranger’s lips on his own. Eli had tried to touch him, but he could barely stand the feeling of a stranger’s hands on him, either. But then Eli had tried to lay on top of him, and he _couldn’t_ stand the feeling of a stranger’s weight on top of him, suffocating him.

That was where he drew the line, where he had to pull away before he stopped breathing entirely.

Blaine had let him keep kissing and touching, though, and he had forced himself to kiss him back and touch him back, forced himself to get Eli off, at the very least, but he hadn’t been able to finish himself. He was too messed up to even _get off,_ to even _hook up_ right.

He had gone with the intention of _feeling_ something, of forgetting and of being wanted and of giving himself over, but he had never felt more numb.

At the time, Blaine had never hated himself more, either.

But since leaving Eli’s dingy apartment, the hate grew infinitely deeper with every moment that passed.

How had he let himself get so stuck in his own head?

How had he let himself spiral so far out of control?

How had he let himself lose sight of the fact that he was seeing Kurt in a mere couple of _weeks?_

How had he let himself get so lost so _fast_ , quickly enough to resort to the unthinkable in under a _month,_ deeply enough to do something he never even thought he was _capable_ of?

And now here he sat on a plane to New York, straight to the love of his life, who had no idea Blaine had betrayed him in the worst possible way, who Blaine wasn’t even sure he would be able to look in the eyes.

It was like he was waiting for his own self-inflicted execution.

Because there was that _voice_ again, nagging him, telling him _he doesn’t care, anyways. He was going to break up with you when you visited regardless. He’s so much better off without you. You’re doing him a favor._

Some twisted favor.

Somehow, still, Blaine was desperate to see Kurt, to hug him and see him smile and _feel_ him again, one last time.

 _One last time,_ before he inevitably brought it all crashing down, even though he didn’t deserve Kurt’s smile, Kurt’s hug, Kurt’s _anything._

Regardless of the demons in his mind, Blaine’s heart still longed for Kurt, still ached to reach out for him, like it hadn’t yet caught up with the reality of what he had done.

By some stroke of luck, as the plane touched down at JFK, that feeling in his heart won out.

Because as lost as Blaine was, as broken and beaten down within an inch of his life as he had ever been, he always held onto a tiny sliver of unrealistic _hope,_ no matter what.

It was a hope that, if he explained himself well enough, Kurt might understand. It was a hope that Kurt would hear him out, that Kurt would still love him, that there was a chance he could make it _up_ to Kurt, that he could convince Kurt that he would never do it again, never so much as _look_ at someone else.

It was a hope that somehow, by some astronomical _miracle,_ they would be _okay._

It was even a hope that Kurt had already fallen out of love with him so that his confession would hurt Kurt _less,_ if it was even possible.

Because Kurt breaking his heart was better than Blaine breaking Kurt’s, whether he could survive it or not. 

It wasn’t like Blaine hadn’t already broken his own.

Regardless of its form, misguided or not, Blaine’s hope drove him to get up and find his way through the airport, to buy the biggest, reddest bouquet of flowers he could find, to mentally finish arranging his own solo version of their song, their _first song,_ in a desperate hope of creating one last happy memory, as if that would help.

Blaine’s hope carried him all the way to Kurt’s building, all the way up the stairs and down the hallway, all the way to the door of the loft.

Before he had a chance to overthink it or to convince himself otherwise, Blaine shifted the flowers in his hands, he took a deep breath, and he knocked.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, let me know what you think and how it fits in with your idea of canon! I really love and appreciate your comments!


End file.
